


SortaSpooky Challenge 2018 - Day 1 - "Trapped"

by PsychoSweetheart1



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: GTA!AU, Gen, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Death, Other, Sort Of, SortaSpooky Challenge, no editing, we die like men!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 08:22:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoSweetheart1/pseuds/PsychoSweetheart1
Summary: A jolt. Memories. A window in the abyss.Where the fuck was Gavin?My contribution to the SortaSpooky Challenge! (I know I'm late, don't judge)





	SortaSpooky Challenge 2018 - Day 1 - "Trapped"

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, I decided to do the SortaSpooky Challenge (brought about by the lovely Madhouse community) at the last minute... like, after people were already doing Day 2.  
> I probably won't be able to catch up and probably won't finish up the month, but I'm gonna try to do as many as I can!
> 
> Also, while there's no actual "shipping" in this one, I did keep it vague enough that you can pretend ;P

It was sudden. A jolt that made Gavin feel like he'd jumped out of his own skin and into the cold air. A jolt that left him gasping. Logically, a jolt like that would only last a moment, leaving heavy breaths and a sheen of sweat as his mind slowly erased the fuzz and he found himself in his bed in the Crew's penthouse or in one of their numerous safehouses around Los Santos.

So, he waited.

And waited.

The initial jolt was gone, but he still felt the cold, still air. He felt the emptiness in his chest, as though he would look down and find a crater where his heart should be.  
He felt... alone.

"H... hello?" Gavin called out. He was faced with a seemingly solid wall of black. Did he open his eyes? He looked down at his own hands. They seem to be there, clear as day. But even though he could physically see them, they seemed as though they weren't really there. As if he was staring at someone else's hands.  
His eyes scanned his own arms. He was wearing his signature blue shirt. A bit tattered and with tiny specks of blood, but... Wait. How'd his shirt get like this?

"The heist!" Images started flooding back into his mind in waves. Random moments that he wasn't sure was in the right order. His head began to throb, attempting to put the pieces together where they belong.

 

The heist. It was a normal bank heist. One that they'd done so many times before. It was even the same bank that they'd hit a few times. They waltzed in, confident as always. Cocky even. Gavin was sure he'd held up the same woman behind the counter as the last time. Every thing went swimmingly.

But... something went wrong. The alarm was triggered somehow. Did they miss something? Someone? He couldn't hear anything beside the alarm and several grown men yelling and cursing like a bunch of bloody sailors in the comms.

Michael. Michael's yells had a hint of panic, which made himself panic a bit. Michael was his rock. The one to smack him on the back of the head because of some stupid innane comment he's made. He never showed fear. Until today.

Gunshots rang out. It's hard to tell where they're coming from. Did Ryan shoot? Did Jeremy? Was he firing his gun? Were the security guards firing at them? His head pounded trying to figure it out.

They were outside now. And surrounded. The glittering red and blue specks flooded his vision. Geoff was in the van around the corner, ready to take them to the airport where Jack was waiting. They would take everyone to safety. They were running. And firing. And the cops were firing back. It was a short distance, but he was sure his legs were gonna give out at the sheer speed of the sprint.

A sharp pain in his leg. Quickly followed by a sharp pain in his back. He was on the ground. He couldn't breath. His chest hurt. Was Michael calling out to him? He could barely hear his Boi, as if he was miles away. He tried to look around. Michael was standing over him, firing at something behind him. A cop? He didn't know. He felt himself be lifted up and carried. A purple jacket. He wanted to make a sly quip about Jeremy being so strong despite his stature. He wanted to say anything. No noise. He tried to talk. His chest rumbled in pain, but he heard nothing.

The images were fuzzy now. Too sporadic to make sense. They made it to the van. Geoff was yelling, small bits of spittle coming out. He was in the backseat, head in Michael's lap. He could still smell the soap his Boi used on his clothes. Lavender? Hard to tell.

He felt a pressure on his back. Another on his leg. He tried to look around, but felt too much pain.

They were on the plane now. He could see the cockpit. Jack kept glancing back at him with a worried look. Heh, he was alway the "mother hen" of the crew. It was funny, but sweet at the same time.

He could still smell Michael's clothes. His head was still in his Boi's lap. The pressure on his body was still there. Seems more frantic now. His brain was having a hard time putting two and two together, but he knew whatever was happening was gonna stain the seats.

He was tired. He was gonna close his eyes for just a second. Wait, why is Michael yelling again? He sounds much farther now. He's still yelling, and he could hear the others too, but Gavin's not sure why.

He wasn't going anywhere, was he?

 

The images settled as the realization finally hit him. He was shot. He was shot during a heist that they'd done probably a million times before. He was shot.

He looked around at the abyss that surrounded him as the weight in his chest become heavier and heavier. Was he... dead? Was this Heaven? Hell? Where the fuck was he?

He ran. He didn't know what direction he was running in, or why. But he ran. And ran. And ran.

He saw something in the distance. A light? A way out? Whatever it was, Gavin slowed down as he got closer.

It was... a window? It was blindingly bright. It took a moment before Gavin could see the other side of it.

A room. White, almost sterile. He looked closer and saw various machinary in various spots. There were people in the room, but Gavin could hardly make out who. There was a bed in the middle. Looked like there were tubes leading towards it. Or were they wires? Wait...

"That's me!" He frantically looked around at the other figures. There was someone sitting in a chair besides the bed, holding his hand, brown jacket rested on the back of it. Michael! Michael was there! He looked worried. And sad. And scared. Gavin couldn't decided which hurt more to see.

Someone was standing behind him, hand on Michael's shoulder, reassuring. Yellow pants, a peek of an orange shirt. Jeremy! The shorter man was wearing a leather jacket and beanie instead of his typical cowboy hat and grotesque purple jacket. Probably for the best. Too recognizable.

Slowly, the other figures in the room became clear to him.

Geoff stood near the bed, one hand in his pocket and the other rubbing his face. He looked as though he'd been through hell and back.

Jack sat in a chair on the opposite side of the bed from Michael, hands together and head bowed. Was he... praying? Gavin never pictured the bearded man as the religious sort, but out of the entire crew, Jack was probably the one with the most morals, so it made sense, in a way. Hell, maybe Jack just became a religious man in this moment. Gavin felt guilty at that thought.

Ryan was the last figure he saw. He stood farther away from the group, leaning against the wall and arms crossed. His dad jeans, t-shirt, and baseball hat combo was far from the Vagabond attire he normally had. The taller man had his head down, the brim of the hat blocking the other's view, but not Gavin's. Was he crying? The Brit had hardly seen much emotion from Ryan. Either he was the vicious and terrifying Vagabond, or he was goofy and jokey Ryan.

He took in the scene again. There was his crew, standing around a hospital bed - his hospital bed - all showing the emotions that he honestly wasn't sure the most feared gang in Los Santos could even fathom.

The different machines that were connected to his body were still beeping, which meant that his heart was still beating. If his heart was still beating, then he was still alive, right?

But, if he was here, and his body was over there...

He felt a breeze behind him. He turned around to face the abyss. Was there another light in the distance? Something told him that was the way out. Out of this darkness. But, to where? Was he giving up if he went that way? It certainly felt that way.

He turned back towards the window. Towards his crew. His friends. His family.

He didn't want to leave. He had to find a way back. He just didn't know how.

He pounded on the window. It wasn't glass and didn't seem to make any sound, but he did it anyway.

He screamed as loud as he could. He didn't have the booming voice that Michael had, but they had to hear him eventually, right?

Screaming and pounding. Pounding and screaming. over and over again.

Tears ran down his face.

He had to find a way back.

He needed to.

He just didn't know how.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this particular "theme" in various forms and AUs stuck in my head for a while now. Most of which had Jeremy as the main character. But, somehow, Gavin seemed a better fit for this one.
> 
> I may revisit this theme and rework it for a different AU - or even a completely different fandom - in the future.
> 
> But, let me know what you think! Let me know how I can improve! <3


End file.
